


in other words

by daisysusan



Series: in other words [1]
Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:10:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisysusan/pseuds/daisysusan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Chris doesn't take Dustin seriously, and one time he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in other words

1.

Chris is sprawled on the couch, his legs taking up far more space than they have any right to, leaving Dustin squeezed into the far corner. It would be appropriate roommate behavior for him to turn and drape his legs over Chris’s, right?

He doesn’t know any more, can never tell what’s appropriate around Chris because everything he does feels like a come-on or a cheap trick just to be able to _touch_ him, and he spends every second worried that Chris will see right through him. Not that getting to touch Chris helps Dustin overcome the burning desire to kiss him _all the fucking time_ or anything. But it is nice and warm and comforting, like hot chocolate or a fuzzy blanket.

So Dustin throws his legs across the couch, one of them resting messily over Chris’s. And then he studiously ignores how close it puts his foot to Chris’s thigh, how he could just run his toes up it or … a lot of other things he is _definitely_ not thinking about even a little bit.

Chris tosses a controller at his face.

“C’mon, Moskovitz, let me own your ass.”

Dustin does _not_ turn red.

He absolutely, positively, without a doubt does _not_ considering offering it to Chris, no questions asked.

He’s pretty sure that’s not appropriate roommate/friend behavior. Like, not even a little bit.

Instead, he focuses on beating (well, trying to beat) Chris. As usual, it ends with him getting his ass kicked because Chris is, like, the god of video games. Dustin doesn’t think he’s ever seen him lose a game of anything. Maybe Chris sold his soul to Satan for gaming skills. That’s probably what bored kids in North Carolina do.

It hits Dustin, then, that he kind of wants to date someone who never loses at video games and may possibly have sold his soul to Satan. Specifically, he wants to date Chris _because_ of those things.

“Hey, Chris,” he says, because he is (almost) an adult who can do mature things like making the first move with people he is really stupidly into. “Do you want to get dinner?”

“Sure,” Chris answers with a grin, “Lemme just ask Mark if he wants us to grab him anything from the d-hall.”

And, okay, that is not at all what Dustin meant. He meant, like, dress up and go to a fancy restaurant in Boston and he could pay and then maybe there would be hand-holding or kissing or maybe even eventually sex.

Sex would be nice.

He’ll try again. Soon.

 

2.

Soon turns out to not be so soon, because Mark asks him for help with thefacebook and Dustin doesn’t even know when he finds time to go to class, much less woo Chris-the-oblivious but also adorable and sweet and smart and _why does his brain do this_?

He's determined, though, to make at least a bit of headway. Dustin pays careful attention, waiting for anything that might be an opening, when it might be okay to say something to Chris that implies but does not fully spell out his more-than-friendly desire to suck him off, or maybe finger him until he's writhing and begging or—okay, now would be a good time for his brain to stop sounding like a program description from Skinemax. Announcing, out of the blue, that he really, really wants to blow his best friend is not the right way to go about this.

A more tactful approach, he decides, would be to make Chris fall for him as well, because then he wouldn’t be pining alone, and they could have lots of mutually satisfying sex. And also cuddle. He resolves to bring the famous Moskovitz charm into the game as soon as possible.

So he waits for an opportunity.

And waits a while longer.

And then a bit more after that.

As it turns out, while Dustin is writing code about ten days a week, Chris is up to his neck in publicity for thefacebook and is trying to keep up with his schoolwork on top of that (Dustin is only staying afloat because he’s completely given up on the latter). All this work is crimping his devious plan to shower Chris with compliments on his gaming prowess and other wonderful qualities.

One evening, after what felt like weeks of barely even seeing Chris, he realizes that maybe it doesn't have to be a hindrance.

The next time Chris takes a short break from his piles of work, Dustin makes a point of rubbing his shoulders briefly.

He smiles appreciatively, and Dustin feels the tension in Chris’s neck ease just slightly.

The next time, Dustin rubs them a little longer and says to him, "You're really amazing for doing all this, you know."

"Thanks, Dustin," Chris says, wry, "But at least tell me what you screwed up, so that I know how long to make you grovel before I fix it." He's laughing, his eyes friendly, but still.

Dustin sulks for the next day, and Mark yells at him for not getting enough work done.

 

3.

The party roars around Dustin’s ears, but he doesn’t focus on it. He’d seen Chris head off into its depths in search of drinks, but it has been twenty minutes. It’s a big party, full of drunk jocks who look like they would give a smallish guy who’s in the GSA hell. And Chris was already a little tipsy.

In short, Dustin is worried.

Just as he resolves to go looking for Chris, Dustin spots him on the edge of the crowd, speaking earnestly to a burly guy. The other man reaches forward and wraps hand around Chris’s shoulder in a way that makes Dustin’s insides churn. He thinks his eyes are flashing green like he’s a cartoon character.

Then Chris shoves the guy’s hand off his shoulder and says—well, Dustin isn’t a great lip-reader, but what Chris says looks a _hell_ of a lot like “I told you, I’m _not interested_.”

Dustin’s instinct to protect Chris takes over (and since when does he even _have_ an instinct to protect Chris; he is in so far over his head with this crush) and he strides quickly toward his best friend.

When he gets there, he drapes an arm over Chris’s shoulders, saying “Hey, babe.” Chris looks confused, momentarily, but then his face smoothes and he curls into Dustin’s arm.

Dustin could really get used to this.

“I was just looking for you, honeybun,” Chris says.

It occurs to him, entirely too late, that this plan kind of depends on the other guy being enough of a gentleman to back off when he realizes Chris has a “boyfriend.” Otherwise, well, he’s not exactly a big guy either, and it’s not like he has time to work out these days. He wonders, briefly, whether the guy is on thefacebook and how much Mark would hurt him for fucking up the asshole’s profile.

Luckily for them, and for Dustin’s life goal of getting punched in the face as little as possible, the other guy seems to be reasonably polite. “Dude, sorry, I didn’t realize you were here with someone,” he says, walking back into the crowd of drunken dancers at the center of the room.

Chris shrugs out from under Dustin’s arm and says, morosely, “This party blows. Let’s go back to the suite.”

When they step outside, suddenly, Chris is overcome by a fit of giggles.

“Sorry,” he chokes out, “I’m grateful for the save and all, but the idea of you having a boyfriend is kind of hilarious.”

Dustin stares at him blankly.

“I’ve seen your porn stash, Dustin,” Chris tells him flatly. “And seriously, I have _never_ seen that many fake boobs before or since.”

Dustin hasn’t actually looked at it since high school. It’s not like he needs help being horny when Chris is around all the time.

 

4.

Dustin answers his phone in a daze from too many hours of coding, too much pot smoke drifting through the house, and too little sleep, always too little sleep.

“Huh?” he says.

“Hi, Dustin,” says Chris’s comforting voice.

“Hi, Chris,” he responds, throwing himself onto the couch of the house he still shares with Mark, though Sean’s always partying girlfriends have long since cleared out. “How’s Harvard?”

“It’s good.” Dustin can hear his smile through the phone. “It’s a lot of work, though.”

“Yeah, well, that’s college,” Dustin says, groggy. “You should’ve just come out here with me and Mark.”

“I like school,” comes the soft answer. Then, “Dustin, are you okay? You don’t sound good.”

“I’m just tired,” Dustin answers quickly. “I did a lot of work today. And the living room smells like weed again. I think Sean was here last night.”

“Jesus, can’t Mark just kick him out of something?”

“He doesn’t crash here much, Chris. It’s not a big deal.”

Chris hums like he doesn’t quite believe Dustin. He’s good at that, catching Dustin in his white lies, though he rarely calls him on it. As the silence lengthens, he launches into a story about his misadventures at Harvard. Dustin laughs at all the right places, but he isn’t really paying attention; he’s just too tired and strung out. Instead, he lets Chris’s voice lull him into a sleeplike state.

After a while, the easy pace of the story slows, and Chris says, “Dustin? Are you listening?”

Dustin, because he’s half-asleep and is in a house that still isn’t home and is across the country from his best friend-cum-crush, whispers “I miss you” into the phone.

Chris laughs softly. “Yeah,” he answers. “If I were living with Mark and sometimes Sean Parker, I’d miss me, too.”

He considers, for a moment, correcting Chris’s assumption. But then he falls asleep on the couch and the moment is lost.

 

5.

Things are better now that Chris has graduated and come out to California. Dustin enjoys being around him all the time again, and putting Chris in the house’s third bedroom means that Sean cnn’t crash there anymore, thank _God_.

Of course, he’s still in love with Chris, which is kind of less-than-perfect because Chris doesn’t appear to have realized his as-yet-unacknowledged squishy love feelings for Dustin during their separation. Not that Dustin knows Chris likes him or is making assumptions about everyone wanting him or something. He just _hopes_ is all.

But Chris is at Facebook every day with him and Mark and watches movies with them on the couch and sometimes he even cooks, which is kind of the best thing ever because seriously, Dustin may actually be a worse cook than Mark. It’s shameful and Dustin chooses not to speak of it. Either way, everything is very comfortable and easy and maybe a little more domestic than is good for his mental health.

The decline in his mental stability is evidenced by the fact that one day, when Chris handles an intern-related catastrophe (that Dustin may have inadvertently created by cracking a poorly-chosen joke) with perfect composure and only limited yelling _and then_ gets Dustin takeout from his favorite restaurant for lunch, Dustin may possibly have blurted out “I love you” in place of a normal, if heartfelt, thank you.

Chris, being Chris, is not particularly flustered by it, answering, “Yeah, I know. I’m just that good.”

Sometimes Dustin just wants to curl up with his never-ending crush and _die_.

 

+1.

It had occurred to Dustin before he started college, in a vague, almost academic way, that he might be bisexual. He'd never made a big deal out of it, even to himself, because he'd never actually met any guys he was into. He just … was not at all opposed to the theory of dating a guy.

All that theory had kind of gone out the window when he met Chris. Because _holy shit_ he was attracted to Chris, who had a beautiful smile and a soothing voice (okay, sometimes it was less soothing and more _other things_ , but that's beside the point) and long thin fingers that Dustin really, _really_ wanted to do vile things to. And that was before he even got to know Chris, got to be his best friend and learn about how he wants to change the world and how earth-shatteringly amazing he is and how brilliant he is with people.

But it’s been four years now, four years of being gut-wrenchingly in love with his best friend and, every time Dustin tries to tell him, either the words just come out all wrong or Chris doesn't see their meaning.

Or maybe he did and was just trying to let Dustin down easy, all politeness and easy charm.

Dustin probably shouldn't have gotten buzzed and curled his head into Chris's lap like an oversized kitten, while Chris paid close attention to some movie on the TV.

Before he stops himself, the words fall out of his mouth, petulant and quiet. "You never take me seriously, Christopher."

"I … what are you talking about, Dustin?" Chris pauses the movie and gently pushes Dustin off his lap, looking him in the eye. "Of course I take you seriously, you're my best friend."

"Not about the things that matter," Dustin says, congratulating himself on online whining a little. "I've been trying to tell you for years now and you haven't realized yet."

“What are you talking about?” Chris frowns and puts his hand softly on Dustin's knee. "You can tell me anything, you know."

He's drunk enough to do it, too. "Remember when I pretended to be your boyfriend and you thought it was funny? Or when I told you I missed you and you thought it was funny? Or when I told you I love you and you thought it was funny?"

"Yeah," Chris says slowly. "I remember all of those. Why?"

"I …" and here Dustin stumbles, his words trailing off into nothing.

Chris nods encouragingly.

"I … kind of love you," Dustin said.

"I love you, too," Chris cuts in.

"I love you in the way where I really, _really_ want to kiss you right now," Dustin finishes, before his mouth has time to run any of that by his brain.

"Oh," Chris says.

And then, because Chris's mouth is hanging open in the most adorable way and because, apparently, Dustin's body isn’t consulting his brain either, he leans over and kisses Chris, just once, just gently.

But Chris's mouth is open and he gasps softly into Dustin's mouth and his hand on Dustin's knee is squeezing a little too tight to be comforting. And then— _oh_ —Chris touches his tongue to Dustin's lower lip and all of a sudden Dustin is the one with his mouth open, gasping like an idiot.

"You idiot," Chris says, pulling away a fraction of a breath, "I've been wanting to do that for years."

Dustin decides he’s just a little too tipsy to talk, so he pushes forward through that last little bit of space and kisses Chris again, harder this time, with purpose. Chris seems pleased with that, bunching his hands in Dustin's t-shirt and pulling them both down horizontally on the couch.

Dustin is actually lying on the couch on top of Chris and they are _seriously_ making out, and have been for … a while. Gauging the passage of time is really hard when he’s touching Chris’s at all, forget plastered to every inch of his body.

He's also pretty sure he's dreaming.

Chris is nipping at Dustin's jaw and rubbing his hands over Dustin's back and—Jesus _motherfucking_ Christ—his ass and Dustin is so turned on it's taking a lot of effort to not spontaneously combust right this instant.

Instead, he rolls his hips just a tiny bit—and Chris makes this choked noise, like maybe he’s trying just as hard as Dustin to not just die of wanting. The idea that Chris might be as into this as he is (and he is really, disgustingly into this) doesn’t help at all with Dustin’s attempts to not make a complete fool of himself.

He tries thinking about something completely not sexy, not even a little bit, like the hygienic state of the suite back at Kirkland but then his oxygen-deprived, kiss-addled brain remembers playing video games in the filthy common room and Chris’s obscenely attractive hands wrapped around an Xbox controller, which immediately reminds him how those hands are currently under his shirt, tracing up and down his back. He shudders a little, feeling Chris’s fingers drag across his spine like they’re leaving visible trails across his skin.

Somehow, he realizes he’s not doing anything with his own hands and quickly rectifies that by running them down Chris’s sides and then skimming them under the edge of his shirt, touching the warm skin there cautiously. Chris squirms like he wants more contact, and Dustin realizes that, with Chris pinned under him, lips firmly attached to Dustin’s neck— _ooh, hickey_ , he thinks ridiculously—he doesn’t have the range of motion to do all the things he wants to, like reaching up to run the pad of his thumb across Chris’s nipple or kissing his way down Chris’s stomach or licking his belly button until Chris squirms again, more desperately, or moans. Yeah, that. He wants to make Chris moan.

But Dustin also really, really doesn’t want to lose this full-body contact thing they have going on, or remove the hands from his back or stop pressing sloppy kisses that are a lot more like licks down the side of Chris’s face. So for the time being, he just pulls Chris’s hips in closer to his and Chris makes this little noise that Dustin can’t hear properly because Chris’s mouth is still sucking at his neck but it sounds a lot like _oh god Dustin_ , and that makes him grin smugly.

It also turns him on, like, _a lot_.

Then Chris rolls his hips wantonly and Dustin, whose mouth is still really really not talking to his brain at all, moans embarrassingly loudly. Luckily, Chris doesn’t seem to care about the volume, because he hums happily and yanks Dustin’s shirt over his head, then flattens his hands on Dustin’s back and kisses him, hard and messy and with so much want behind it Dustin thinks he might actually see stars.

This is all just so much more than Dustin can handle.

He drags his mouth away, gasping into the crook of Chris’s neck, trying to compose himself enough to say something—anything. Because Chris is clearly the superior human and also clearly has super-human speaking powers, he says “Jesus fucking Christ, Dustin, if you do not put your hands _somewhere else_ in the next thirty seconds, I will not be responsible for my actions.”

(He sounds kind of choked, like he’s forcing the words out past other noises his mouth would rather be making.)

Dustin, well, he can do that.

He removes one hand from Chris’s hip and presses it softly to his crotch.

And Chris— _oh god and Jesus and everything holy that he’s never worshipped but he will seriously consider converting if this just keeps happening_ —Chris _groans_ at him like he’s never wanted anything more in his life, his hips stuttering up into Dustin’s and okay, Dustin really seriously cannot be held responsible for the noise he makes or the way he forgoes all pretense of pacing himself and undoes Chris’s pants as quickly as humanly possible with the express purpose of getting his hand around Chris’s dick _right the fuck now_.

With some extra back-up brain he didn’t know he had, Dustin manages to say, low and dark in his throat, “Bossy, bossy, Christopher,” as pushes down Chris’s boxers and wraps his fingers around the end of Chris’s dick.

Chris actually whimpers and, okay, spontaneous human combustion is so so _so_ not off the table because the sound runs through Dustin like a shiver, straight to his crotch as he thrusts his hips against Chris and _god, why is his hand in the way of direct pelvic contact_? Against his back, Chris’s fingers tense, nails digging into his skin, the tiny crescents of pain grounding him just a little bit.

Then Chris takes a deep breath and kisses Dustin again, licking at his teeth and tongue and when Dustin thinks about it like that, it sounds a hell of a lot less sexy than it actually is because there are seriously _not words_ for how sexy the kissing is. The fact that he manages to keep moving his hand on Chris’s dick is a superhuman feat he’ll take time to be proud of later, when his brain isn’t melting.

And he must have spaced out for a minute, or gotten too dazed by Chris’s magical kissing powers or _something_ , because all of a sudden, there is another hand between them, fumbling to undo his pants, then shoving them and his boxers down around his thighs.

Actual honest-to-god skin-to-skin contact is without a doubt the best thing that has ever happened to Dustin _ever_ , and it takes all of his concentration, repeating in his head _don’t come don’t come don’t come_ to keep from losing it there.

He can feel Chris leaking and he probably is too, and the kisses Chris is pressing to his neck are getting even sloppier to the point that they’re really just licks, long and hot and then Chris is mixing small bites in and Dustin can’t even move his hands to retaliate properly because one is wedged between their rolling bodies and the other is clutching uselessly at Chris’s hip and it feels like all his skin is vibrating. The angles are wrong and his trapped hand is going to sleep, he can feel it tingling and it is still the best sex he’s ever had because it’s him and it’s Chris and he’s wanted this for so incredibly long.

Neither of them has even successfully gotten a hand around both their dicks, but when Dustin grabs Chris’s chin to kiss him again—he really can’t go more than about a minute without kissing Chris because now he’s _allowed_ and he never dreamed this would actually happen—Chris’s pupils are blown wider than Dustin has even seen them and his mouth is red and swollen and hanging open just a little bit and Dustin can hear the tiny noises he’s making in the back of his throat. He looked completely debauched and wanton and a thousand other words Dustin can’t remember because there is literally _no_ blood in his brain right now.

Finally—and Dustin has to revise all his earlier opinions because clearly _this_ is the best thing that has ever happened to him—Chris wraps a hand around both of them and _pulls_. There is friction and the angles are off and Chris’s other hand is still digging into his back but Dustin’s vision goes white and, as he spills embarrassingly quickly at the touch of Chris’s hand, he says (even though he’s pretty sure his words are too broken to be comprehensible) the only thing he can think of— _I love you_.

He feels Chris’s whole body tense and, through the haze of his orgasm, he watches Chris’s head fall back into the cushions as he comes.

Slumping down, breathing heavily and too sated to move, Dustin buries his head in Chris’s shoulder.

Chris, his voice low and sleepy, murmurs into Dustin’s ear, “Mmm, that was nice.” He pauses, presses a short kiss to Dustin’s ear. “And, in case you didn’t notice, I love you in the way where I want to kiss you, too.”

Dustin tries to laugh, but all that comes out is a breathy exhale.

Laughing is more their style anyway.


End file.
